


Red, and Terrible, and Red

by Sassaphrass



Series: Burn your kingdom Down [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Bruce is terrible at feelings, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason-Centric, Murder, Mutilation, Prostitution, Sexual Coercion, Slavery, The Batfamily as Victors, Unreliable Narrator, so much murder, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassaphrass/pseuds/Sassaphrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a journey from Victor, to Slave to Rebel (with just a short side-trip through insane vengeance fueled serial killer), for Jason Todd winning the Hunger Games was only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Victor

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Look at the tags guys. Seriously. 
> 
> This focuses on Jason's time forced to serve in the Capitol, so there's quite a bit of talk about sexual coercion and forced prostitution, and a violent rape happens off-screen but it's aftershocks are a major plot point. 
> 
> Guys seriously, read the tags and if you're not sure you can take it, don't read this.

To be fair, Jason has to admit that they did try and ease him into the whole: r _emember how you were chosen at random and forced to kill fellow children for sport? That's not even the worst part!_ , thing that was totally a _thing_.

There'd been a lot of talk about Dick having to 'spend time in the Capitol', Bruce made a lot of veiled remarks about the distasteful nature of his “son”'s revolving door of Capitolite lovers, and Alfred had muttered disgruntedly about how “We all do what we have to Master Wayne”.

 

Still, when Bruce had actually sat him down and flat out told him that Dick was being more or less forced to do the nasty with whoever the President owed a favour too, apparently having finally given up on the hope that Jason would work that little piece of information out for himself, Jason had not taken it well. To say the least.

 

Things had been thrown, windows had been smashed, words and debilitating sleeper holds had been used which everyone regretted.

 

Still, Bruce had said Jason might not have to do it. Even though he had to sometimes, and Dick had to constantly, Jason might be spared.

 

And Jason had had to shut down his immediate impulse to argue that he can handle anything the first Boy Wonder can, that he's totally just as pretty and desirable as Dick-face (even if it wasn't true). But he'd managed to deny that self-destructive impulse for once. Jason had no idea how he would react if he was backed into that sort of corner again. It probably wouldn't be good.

 

He doesn't know if Bruce did anything to try and avoid the inevitable. If he lobbied or argued or bargained or begged to try and keep Jason off the auction block. Probably not, Jason couldn't help thinking bitterly as he dressed for a requested appearance at the opening of a new Capitol night-club. If Bruce wouldn't save Dick than there's no way he'd even bother trying to save Jason.

 

This appearance isn't like some of the stuff Dick has to do, Jason knew. He just needed to show up, smile and give the attendees a thrill by letting them rub shoulders with a real live Victor. Bruce and Dick were even going to be there, though apparently they were going to be required to rub more than just shoulders.

 

 

 

 

Jason knocked back his drink at the sight of Dick laughing and smiling on the arm of some Capitolite scum. Jason doubted anyone else could tell (or that anyone in this crowd would care if they could) but Jason could see from here that Dick was uncomfortable and despite all of Bruce's empty words about 'family' Jason barely even knew his older 'brother'.

 

It made Jason grit his teeth and grip his glass harder. He watched as Dick lightly stroked a hand up his client's arm with a sultry smile.

 

That made his stomach turn. He looked away as the man leaned in for an inevitable kiss, and his eye caught his 'mentor' sitting across the club.

 

Bruce was ensconced in a booth surrounded by his usual bevy of female Capitol admirers. He met Jason's gaze and gave him a pointed look.

 

Jason deepened his scowl, but started to circulate through the club, making small talk with various Capitolites who were apparently important.

 

He jerked in surprise when someone grabbed his elbow and had to keep himself from instinctively swinging 'round with it to knock whoever it was in the teeth. Instead he just tensed and pasted on a fake smile.

 

“You're Jason Todd!” a young woman a few years older than him squealed in apparent delight. “I'm so excited to meet you!”

 

Jason's smile became genuine against his better judgement. “Yeah? Why's that?”

 

She practically jumped up and down clapping her hands she was so excited. “The way you finished off your last competitor in yours Games? With your bare hands?! I've never seen anything like it!! You practically won the whole thing without a single weapon.”

 

Okay, now Jason really _was_ going to be sick. He forced himself to loosen his grip on his empty glass. It wouldn't do shatter it and cut up his palm, not worth the hours in Remake as they'd knit the skin together again, smooth and scarless just like the rest of him. As if the arena never happened.

 

He swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat, grabbed a full glass from a passing tray, downed it, grabbed another and faked a smile.

 

“Thanks. Most people weren't too impressed by that. They were all rooting for that long-shot from 7 or the Career from 1.”

 

She grabbed his hand. “Come on! I have some friends who'd love to meet you!”

 

The rest of the night passed in a drunken whirl of overly excited young women, and their considerably less happy boyfriends.

 

Bruce was already back, sitting reading in the living area by the door, when Jason stumbled home from the night-club at the end of the party.

 

He didn't look impressed when he took stock of Jason's state.

 

He sighed heavily and put his book down before grabbing Jason none too gently by the jaw and angling his face to the light so he could check his pupils. Jason weakly tried to struggle out of his grasp, but Bruce was a big man and his grip was unyielding.

 

“Was it just the drinks or did you take something from someone?” Bruce growled.

 

“Mmph!” Jason whined, still trying to get away. “ 'm FINE. Bruce get off.”

 

Bruce's grip only tightened. “What did you take Jason!” he bellowed.

 

“NOTHING! Just some of those drinks they were passing around.”

 

Bruce relaxed and let Jason go. “You shouldn't drink so much Jason. It makes you vulnerable.”

 

Jason made a face and waved him off. “Me?!” He didn't mean to shout it just sort of _happened_. “Vulnerable!? I can kill a man with these-” he held up his fists “s'not like anyone would risk tangling with _me_.”

 

Bruce looked even more exasperated. “If you really think that you've deluded yourself more than even _I_ thought. Go to bed, Jason.” he ordered, already settling back into his chair and picking up his screen. “We'll talk about this tomorrow.”

 

Jason bristled at being told what to do by some dumb has-been who wasn't even his mentor anymore, and who besides was only a Victor by _chance_ , but the room had started spinning in a way that was no longer fun, so he decided to wait until morning to tell Bruce just what he thought of being ordered around like he was some sort of slave...

 

He didn't tell Bruce the next morning. He never did.

 

He always found some reason not to: Dick had worn some Capitol fashion that was particularly stupid (the young man was clearly crazy since he seemed to genuinely like the Capitol styles and was constantly bedecking himself in gold and electric blue feathers), Alfred had called, Jason's sports team had won something, one of the other masked vigilantes/criminals of Gotham did something which was more interesting to talk about.

 

Life just moved on.

 

He had to go to events semi-regularly now. He wasn't quite like Bruce yet, going to the Capitol several times a year between the Games, and certainly not like Dick who practically lived there, but it wasn't like the first couple of years where he only visited the Capitol during the Victory tour or when the Games were on, though he wasn't yet expect to sleep with his escorts at the end of the night.

 

He should have seen it coming. He knows that. But, somehow he'd thought that given his background and his storied history of doing exactly the opposite of what people wanted out of spite and self-destruction they'd know better than to sell him for some Capitolite's night of pleasure.

 

They didn't. Jason had gotten so used to going out for non-sexual appearances that he only really clued in to exactly what was expected of him _this time_ when the guy in question, a young relatively nice, relatively good looking guy, whose company Jason had actually been enjoying, leaned over to whisper in his ear about his nearby penthouse and put a hand on Jason's thigh.

 

Jason tried to swallow back his panic.

 

The ironic thing about the whole situation was that, unlike Dick who oh so obviously only had eyes for the ladies, if it weren't for things like _this_ happening to him, Jason probably would have actually liked sleeping with boys occasionally.

 

But, the hand on his thigh reminded him top much of when he'd been little and hungry in Crime Alley and willing to do just about anything to try and make it to the next week. So, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to relax enough to actually try and be with a man on his own terms.

 

Jason forced a smile and grabbed the hand on his thigh lacing their fingers together. It wasn't much more comfortable but it was better than before.

 

He didn't protest as the man led him away from the table and back up to his penthouse. Dick did this sort of thing all the time, with a smile ,Jason reminded himself. It was nothing to him it should be nothing to Jason.

 

Jason wasn't smiling though. He was too focused on trying to keep breathing.

 

Then the man pushed him back onto the bed and suddenly everything was out of control.

 

The guy hadn't even _done_ anything yet.

 

Jason's still not sure what happened just that one second the client was reclining him down onto the bed and the next Jason was across the room with a bruised fist and the client was writhing in pain and clutching his jaw.

 

Their eyes met for just a second and Jason saw the rage in the face of the man whose jaw Jason probably had just broken.

 

Jason panicked. He _knows_ that. He panicked and he ran like hell.

 

Of course he was in the Capitol, and as easily as Jason could have disappeared without a trace down Gotham's narrow streets, here there was nowhere for him to run and nowhere he knew to hide.

 

When the peacekeepers pulled up beside him and opened the door pointedly, he didn't hesitate to climb in. He knew there wasn't any hope of avoiding whatever it was they were going to do to him. You can't just punch someone in the jaw and get away with it. Not when you're a Victor and he'd paid for you.

 

It was a surprise that they took him to President March, but not a huge one. Jason stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of whether a Victor, especially one famous for killing the last of his competition with his bare hands, ought to approach the President uninvited.

 

The President gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

 

“Please, Mr. Todd. Sit.” he said mildly.

 

Nervously, Jason sat.

 

“Now, Mr. Todd, I didn't have this little meeting with you before because Mr. Wayne assured me it was not necessary, that him and Mr. Grayson had explained the situation quite clearly to you and I needn't trouble myself with it. Being, I suppose an optimistic man, I took him at his word. Until tonight it seemed he was correct, and then I received a call from a very disgruntled owner of a very powerful corporation and find that you are far from fully understanding your situation.”

 

“Please sir! I understand I just-I-... I panicked! I don't know what happened, I swear. One minute everything was fine and the next I was halfway across the room and his mouth was bleeding. I was an accident I swear.” Jason groveled.

 

The President stood and poured himself a drink. Jason tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.

 

“Interesting.” There was a clink as the President set the decanter down. He hummed to himself. “But, perhaps not unexpected.”

 

He sat back down swirling his drink, the ice cubes clinking audibly in the silence of the room. He took a long sip.

 

Jason held his breath and waited.

 

“I understand your life was one of hardship before you were reaped, Mr. Todd?”

 

Jason nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Your mother was dead- forgive me, I don't know her profession?”

 

“She-she used to work in one of the Wayne-run factories, but then she got addicted to the morphling and-” Jason explained.

 

“Ah. The rest is history.” President March finished for him. “So, Father gone, Mother an addict. Must have been a hard life for a child.”

 

Jason knew his lines now. “Yes, sir. I had to do terrible things to survive. I'm forever grateful that Capitol provided me the opportunity to escape that life.”

 

The President hummed again. “You know, Mr. Todd. I _do_ believe you. It _was_ an honest mistake. An accident. _Quite_ the accident, of course but, you are not an ordinary Victor, are you? You meant my esteemed friend no harm, and will, when his jaw is healed, be more than happy to entertain him again and this time there will be no such... _accidents_. I'll let you off with a warning this time Mr. Todd. But, do remember- your actions, accidental though they may be, have consequences not just for you. So, you must remember not to make such an accident again. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Yes, Mr. President. Of course, sir. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

 

“In light of your mistake, I'll allow you and the other Victors from District 3 to return to your home on tonight's train to Gotham- to recover until the Victory Tour. That should be plenty of time for Brucie to teach you how to avoid such, ahem, _accidents_ in the future.”

 

“Thank you, sir. That's more than generous-” Jason gushed in pathetic relief.

 

“Just tonight's train, mind you.” President March continued as if Jason hadn't said anything. “If you're still here in the morning, I'll take it as a sign that you feel no need for recovery and are happy to continue serving your country here in the Capitol.”

 

“Of course, sir. We'll be gone I assure you. And there won't be any more mistakes.”

 

“Good.”

 

Sensing that this was his cue to leave Jason stood and had his hand on the doorknob when the President called after him: “Oh, and do ask the _delightful_ Mr. Grayson how he enjoyed his evening with my dear friend Mr. Desmond. You must tell me when next we meet whether he wants to have another encounter with him.”

 

Jason was confused. “Surely, you should be asking Grayson about whether he wants to keep him as a client...”

 

President March huffed out a laugh. “I would. _If_ he was the one who was going to be deciding.”

 

Jason forced a smile again.

 

“Thank you again for your understanding sir.”

 

The President gave a little wave. “Not at all my dear boy. Have a pleasant journey.”

 

Jason nodded. “Thank you sir, I will.” and then left the room try to pretend he wasn't going to break into a run the second he was out the door .

 

He didn't stop running until he made it back to the Tribute Centre where the Victors all stayed when they were in the Capitol.

 

Bruce was out tonight, Jason remembered breathlessly his entire body coursing with adrenaline and relief, with Talia al Ghul, the terrifying Career-legacy from District 1. Pleasure, not business, for both of them, for once. That whole relationship was weird on a level that even Jason found alarming, but at least Bruce would still be out when Jason got back.

 

Of course, because Jason's life is cosmic joke told by a cruel god, Bruce was not only back when Jason tried to sneak onto District 3's floor but he was laying in wait for his youngest protege.

 

“What did you DO!!! JASON!? YOU IDIOT!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Bruce roared shaking Jason by the shoulders the second he was through the door.

 

“I-I didn't-” Jason tried to protest.

 

“DID YOU THINK THE RULES JUST DIDN'T APPLY TO YOU?!? IS THAT IT?! LOOK WHAT YOU DID!!!” He shoved Jason towards the couch and it's only then that Jason took it in:

 

The Avox standing red and silent holding a tray of medical supplies.

 

The crumpled blood stained napkins on the floor.

 

Dick Grayson curled in on himself clutching a cold-pack to his face, hiding behind his long dark hair.

 

 

Someone had beat Goldie all to hell. Jason realized, his heart in his throat.

 

More than that it occurred to him, his stomach dropping down to his toes, as he took in Dick's lack of clothing, except for Bruce's button up that someone had draped over his shoulders, and the bruises on the man's neck and wrists. Courtesy of the Mr. Desmond that President Snow had mentioned, no doubt

 

Bruce put both hands on either side of Jason's head, and tilted it up to meet his furious gaze.

 

“Do you understand the blood, sweat and tears I have paid in the hopes of never having to see a son of mine looking like that?” he hissed, with cold unrelentingly finality. “DO YOU!?” he shouted when Jason didn't answer.

 

Jason shook his head frantically and flinched away trying not to look at Grayson and finding it impossible to tear his eyes away from his “brother's” crumpled figure.

 

“He'll be fine Bruce, you'll see. They'll take him to Remake tomorrow and-” Jason babbled.

 

“No, they won't” It's Dick who interrupted Jason this time, and Bruce looked as surprised as Jason felt.

 

“We don't leave the city tonight, we won't get a chance to go back to Gotham for months.” Dick continued. “I go to Remake, and I'll have to stay here. Don't leave me behind, please.”

 

Jason barely made it to the washroom before throwing up everything he had eaten that day.

 

Bruce was right. Bruce was so right. This had happened to Dick because of Jason, and now they had to choose between risking Dick's health or abandoning him in the Capitol. How could he have thought he could break the jaw of a Capitolite influential enough to buy a Victor for the night and suffer no worse than a presidential tongue lashing?

 

God, Jason really was as _stupid_ as Bruce had always believed.

 

When he looked up Bruce was standing in the doorway, looking calmer, though no less furious.

 

“Are you okay Jason?” Bruce asked.

 

Jason nodded, blinking away the tears that were forming at the corners of his eyes.

 

Bruce ran a hand through his hair “Good, that's good. That's something, at least.” he muttered, possibly to himself but maybe to Jason.

 

Suddenly his eyes were boring into Jason, as if he could ensure Jason's compliance with the sheer force of his gaze. “This is what I've been trying to warn you about, Jason. Your actions have consequences not just for yourself but for everyone around you.”

 

Jason nodded frantically.

 

Bruce heaved another sigh. “Consider yourself lucky your family is already dead. Otherwise this would be much, _much_ worse. Trust me. Grab your stuff as soon as you're done. We need to get to the train station.”

 

Jason threw up again as Bruce turned to leave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dick spent the entire train ride back to Gotham curled up under a blanket staring at nothing, with Bruce sitting a few feet away brooding over a newspaper, and sending off some very clear and very _intense_ protective vibes.

 

It was only when Bruce left, presumably to use the bathroom, (even the terrifying Batman had to pee occasionally), that Jason left where he had been sitting at the far end of the car and snuck over to sit by Grayson.

 

“I'm really sorry Grayson I never meant to-”

 

“S'okay Little Wing.” Grayson reassured him with the faintest hint of a smile, that looked horrifying on his swollen and bruised face. “Wasn't your fault.”

 

“But Bruce says-”

 

“Bruce's just scared, he gets angry when he's scared. He forgets we can't all just...put everything that happens here into a box that doesn't open. Not like him, you know?”

 

“What did they do, Dick?” Jason whispered, he knew he shouldn't ask, that even if Dick was in any state to _say_ , that Jason certainly wasn't in any state to _know_.

 

Dick's eyes suddenly filled with tears. “What do you think happened Jaybird? They dragged me away from my regular client and they- they hurt me, Jay.” His voice broke and he looked away with a sniffle.

 

“Sorry. Sorry.” Jason frantically apologized, rubbing Dick's hand where it clutched at his blanket. “I shouldn't have even have asked anything.”

 

Dick forced a rather watery looking smile. “I told you. It's not your fault Little Wing. They didn't hurt you, right?” The real concern colouring Dick's voice makes Jason sick to his stomach. _The man's barely able to stand and he's trying to comfort the person who got him beat all to hell_.

 

“I'll be okay in a week or two.” he reassured Jason, gently patting his hand. Jason tried to return the smile but he was afraid his was more pathetic even than Dick's had been.

 

“You don't understand Dick- it really is my fault. I-I screwed up, okay? I got scared and the next thing I knew-”

 

Dick put his hand over Jason's cutting him off. “S'like I said, Jay. Wasn't your fault.”

 

With much wincing and groaning Dick squirmed backwards to make room on the couch.

 

“Come on, Little Wing. Sit with your big bro and keep me company.”

 

Jason gulped and gingerly sat down, Dick rested his head on Jason's leg,using it as a pillow.

 

When Bruce came back from the dining car with a bowl of cereal, he gave them an unreadable look but didn't say anything just passing it to Jason and telling him “Try and get him to eat something.” with a nod at Grayson.

 

Jason then spent the rest of the trip feeling like something that had crawled out of Gotham's bay as he fruitlessly nudged Dick with the cereal spoon only to have the older Victor curl even tighter in on himself.

 

They got back into Gotham around dawn and Alfred met them at the station hustling them directly from train to car. Jason stared at the ground instead of having to watch the painful way Dick limped, waving off help despite the fact that both Bruce and Alfred were hovering around obviously desperate to offer it.

 

It's his fault. The knowledge hangs heavy on Jason's shoulders, like the body of his District partner when he'd carried her during his Games. He freaked out about someone putting their hands down his pants, and the Capitol had done this to Dick to remind him what happened if you fought back.

 

Bruce sat in the front next to Alfred so that Dick can stretch out in the back with Jason.

 

Jason watched the tense shoulders of his... of Bruce as they drove past the Victor's village, straight to the clinic.

 

You can't defy the Capitol without consequence. Jason knows this. He does. Everyone in Gotham knows this. The Waynes' execution is seared into the collective consciousness of the City, like a brand.

Except that Gotham had learned a different lesson than the Capitol had intended. If there is no mercy, if even something small can get you killed than you might as well risk big if you're going to gamble at all. So everyone in the Third District had collectively decided to say “Who gives a fuck” to law and order.

 

The Batman defied the Capitol everyday- a mysterious figure of fairness and justice in a world the rest of them had thought was completely without those things.

 

Nightwing with his soaring laugh and acrobatics seemed to lift the people of Gotham out of the dingy darkness of their factory jobs, and scarce resources. He could _fly._ How could the Capitol possibly touch someone who the laws of gravity didn't apply to? It

 

Robin, too, defied the Capitol, even if the outfit was practically Capitol couture (damn Dick and his weird thing with fashion and damn Bruce for not letting Jason change it).

 

Hell, every single one of the masked thugs and vigilantes who seemed to pop up in Gotham like weeds were in their own small way chipping away at the Capitol's control of it's most unruly District.

 

The whole damn city had fooled itself into believing that putting on a mask somehow meant the Captiol couldn't touch you.

 

But Batman was Bruce Wayne was the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games was the Capitol's whore was the Capitol's puppet.

 

And Nightwing was lying in the back of his car beaten and raped within an inch of his life and unable to fight back even though he could because Robin had... had...h _ad punched some sicko who thought it was okay to have sex with a teenager_ **even if** the teenager didn't have a _choice_?!

 

Suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in on him and Jason was gripped by the powerful and complete certainty that he couldn't keep living like this. He couldn't do it. He'd go insane and then what? Cut a bloody swathe through Gotham like the Joker. Kill himself? Punch Bruce in the throat? Run through the streets naked screaming bloody murder?

 

Or he'd screw up again. No matter what techniques Bruce taught him, he has no idea what he'd do the next time he's stuck alone in a room with a client.

 

Next time it might be him lying in the backseat because one of District 3's Victor's made a mistake. And there was no question in Jason's mind that Bruce wouldn't do anything to try and stop it.

 

After all, the man had barely lifted a finger to help the Golden Boy, it's not like he'd do anything if it were the cheap knock-off in peril.

 

But Bruce could do something if he wanted to. The knowledge sat uncomfortably in Jason's mind. Bruce Wayne could stop this and if _he_ couldn't than Batman could.

 

But he didn't stop it. He didn't do anything

 

 

 

 

 

Jason stood awkwardly in the foyer as Alfred helped Dick in to see Doctor Leslie, not deterred this time by acrobat's protestations that he could make it on his own, because it was obvious to everyone watching that he couldn't.

 

Jason only realized he was still holding Dick's blanket from the train after they had disappeared into the doctor's office.

 

He couldn't just stand there and he felt like his heart was choking him but the idea of going home- back to the mansion in the Victor's Village that they all really shouldn't share made his skin crawl because he knew the Capitol had cameras there. He _knew_ that.

 

So he ran.

 

Luckily, this time he _is_ in Gotham, and all it takes is the blanket swung over his shoulders to hide his fancy Capitol clothes and he's disappearing into the streets.

 

He knew there were ways out of Gotham. It's just unavoidable that there would be what with the river running through it and the sheer sprawling size of the place.

 

Of course, the problem isn't getting out of the District. It's avoiding detection once you are out and finding some way of surviving in the woods beyond the fences.

 

He couldn't stay here, though. He couldn't.

 

Not just because he couldn't be responsible for whatever might happen to Grayson next time, but because he didn't want _Grayson_ be responsible for whatever might happen to _Jason_.

 

And more than that, it was a basic primal instinct, a compulsion Jason couldn't fight, like an animal gnawing it's own leg off in a trap. Jason _needed_ to get out. He needed to _get out_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the slow days and weeks of Dick's recovery, Jason went out in the evening before patrolling around with Bruce as Batman and Robin. He found a small group of other young people, street kids like himself mostly, who were going to make a break for it.

 

Before long he was meeting with them everyday, and had joined them in their plans. They didn't ask why he was leaving, or who he was. They didn't ask the awkward questions they could have. This was _Gotham_ and depravity was something they understood here.

The absence of Dick from the vidscreens wasn't particularly out of the ordinary, but they all knew that Alfred had picked them up from the station, and the lack of the original Boy Wonder's bubbling laugh or rooftop displays of ridiculous acrobatics had been quietly noted but not commented on. It was for things like that that Jason loved Gotham, the way things could be known, and understood, without having to be acknowledged.

 

Jason started to let the black dye grow out of his hair, to let his natural reddish-blonde show through. He didn't _want_ to be the Second Boy Wonder any more. Not now that he knew what it meant to be the first.

 

One morning Bruce flicked down the corner of his newspaper at breakfast to look at Jason and his gaze lingered on Jason's admittedly pathetic hair.

 

“They'll just make you dye it again when you go back, you know.” Bruce declared solemnly, without a hint as to what his opinion might be concerning the hairstyle of his youngest protege. “Since you wore it dark for your Games.”

 

Jason nodded at him but didn't say anything.

 

 

 

 

Dick was doing better. Once Dr. Leslie had stitched him up he'd been more or less fine. A couple broken ribs, and one fractured bone in his arm.

 

_He'd tried to shield his face with his arms._ Jason thought grimly as he watched Dick desperately try and jolt the mansion out of the despair that seemed to had gripped it ever since they'd fled the Capitol. Coming, as they did, from a face slowly fading from black bruises through to blue, purple and green ones, Dick's smiles didn't really fool anyone. 

 

Especially since he kept screaming bloody murder whenever he tried to sleep, and holding onto to people even more than usual, as if he was terrified of what might happen to him if they left him alone even for a little while.

 

By unspoken agreement the rest of the Victor's of District 3 rotated through sleeping on the couch in Dick's room. It was the only way he seemed able to get any rest. Sometimes they had to hold his hand, or climb into bed with him before he could be convinced to close his eyes.

 

But time rolled on, Dick's bruises faded. He resumed his training, and took up his acrobatics once more, despite the cast still on one arm. He just laughed about that though. Said i _t might finally make things more of a challenge_. He even started doing his long hair in hilariously elaborate styles in an attempt to lighten the mood around the Mansion. It didn't work. He eventually even started making jokes about needing an escort to go anywhere, but still clung tightly to the arm of whoevever was doing the escorting if they had to leave for a minute.

 

Dick acted like everything was going to go back to normal. There was no outrage at what he'd suffered. No outward sign of bitterness towards Jason or Bruce for causing, or failing to prevent, what had happened . It was like he'd just accepted that from time to time that sort of thing would happen to him and there was no point making a big deal about it.

 

It made Jason crazy. Well, craz _ier_ than usual.

 

How could Dick live like that? How could any of them?

 

Jason kept collecting things for his break for freedom. Everyone in his little groupwas ready, they were just waiting for the opportunity.

 

This _was_ Gotham after all. Some nutjob or other took the power grid down at least once a month.

 

Finally the chance came. Jason never thought he'd have a reason to thank the Joker for anything, but finally one night the lights flickered off, Jason cut the last of the dark out of his hair, and disappeared into the dark streets of Gotham.

 

His heart constricted at the thought of leaving them all: Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. But, he _had_ to. He wasn't really part of the family anyway, he told himself. Not _really_ , it wasn't him that Bruce had claimed as his son that night.

 

Best to disappear. Jason couldn't take another trip to the Capitol. In his current state, despite the deeply uncomfortable advice Bruce, Alfred and Dick keep doling out about lying back and thinking of Gotham, he'd puke the second anyone even brought up the idea of

a client.

 

He couldn't let them down like that again. They had all hardly left their mansion in Victor's Village, except to patrol as their vigilante personas since they came back, and Jason knew the Capitol had been listening in that whole time. There was no way anyone would blame Dick or Bruce or Alfred for what Jason was about to do. He hadn't given anyone even the slightest hint of what he was planning.

 

He tossed his duffel back over the fence and then started climbing, his new friends beside him. Better to take the risk than spend the next five years dying by slow degrees until he's nothing more than some monster created by the Capitol the way Bruce was.

 

Once he got down to the other side of the fence, he stooped and slung his bag over his shoulder, getting one last look at District 3 before he followed his friends into the darkness.


	2. Slave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason gets caught. Tim volunteers as Tribute. Dick Grayson's life continues to be an uphill battle. And Jason gets angry. Really angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Mutilation and Murder, also there's a very non-graphic sexual assault that is interrupted and may be triggering since the bystander fails to intervene on the victim's behalf and instead leaves allowing the assault to continue. 
> 
> Look after yourselves guys.

They got picked up just over a month later, with about half the group getting killed in the chase, and were immediately processed as any criminals attempting to try and flee the Capitol would be: they were condemned as traitors and sentenced to have their tongues cut out.

 

The peacekeepers who grabbed them didn't bother to identify any of them. Why would they when that identity was to be stripped away immediately?

 

Jason didn't get the chance to try and protest, or to explain. None of them even looked at him twice.

 

He didn't look like himself, or he looked like himself but not the version the Capitol shown the world. His hair had grown back in his natural shade of strawberry-blond. He was much taller than he was when he won the Games, but the stress of the last few months had made him shed muscle so he was slimmer too. It was not the fault of the peacekeepers that they didn't see the stocky dark haired teen who'd won the Hunger Games a few years ago in the skinny red-headed young man they caught in the woods.

 

It was their fault that they cut his tongue out though.

 

It hurt to have his tongue cut out. Hurt so badly Jason had prayed he'd choke on the blood and die. He didn't.

 

He told himself that if the peacekeepers had known who he was they wouldn't have done it. He told himself that if the Capitol had known they wouldn't have been allowed to do it.

 

Victor's don't get their tongues cut out.

 

But, nobody knew he was a Victor here, not until the peacekeepers were registering him as an Avox and the fingerprints they took brought up a picture of a well-fed boy with dark hair instead of a scrawny ginger young man.

 

Jason couldn't help the vindictive pleasure he felt when the peacekeepers panicked.

 

But, they didn't tell him anything, and he wasn't taken anywhere. He was just funneled through the system along with the others. Well, maybe not exactly like the others, but close enough for government work.

 

 

 

The worst part was that at first, before they cut his tongue out, even though he was caught, Jason still felt relieved not to be in District 3.

 

Well, that's not actually the _worst_ part. But, Jason preferred to pretend that was the worst part because the _actual_ worst part was that he didn't have a tongue and that was terrible in ways that had nothing to do with being unable to talk.

 

At first he could hardly swallow his own spit, and even once he'd got the hang of that eating suddenly became a heart pounding ordeal as he tried to keep from choking on his own food.

 

He had no way of communicating with any of the people who'd become his friends because they were as voiceless as he was. Soon they were separated and he never saw any of them again.

 

And then the training had started....

 

 

 

 

Jason doesn't remember the Avox training in the same way that he doesn't remember a lot of what happened to him back after his mother died and he was living on the streets of Crime Alley. He _knows_ what happened, at least mostly, but he doesn't really _remember_ it happening.

 

He's not sure how long he spent in the training centre, but it ended with Jason dressed in red and handed off to some Capitol hoi-poloi who'd apparently reached the ranking needed to be awarded the honour of an Avox. Jason had a sneaking suspicion that his new master was doing the peacekeeper's who cut his tongue out a favour and was helping them cover up their mistake by keeping the former Victor of the 98th Hunger Games far far out of sight (but not dead, because you never threw away something that might one day be useful).

 

At this point, just existing became torture for Jason.

Being an Avox doesn't just mean you're voiceless, it means you as good as don't exist.

 

Once your duties are set, no one even looks at you, no one speaks to you or acknowledges you beyond a gesture or a word to send you to your next task.

 

Jason might as well actually have been dead. It would have been better than this. He couldn't even communicate with the other Avoxes who rattled around the too-big sprawling mansion. They were strongly and violently discouraged from using any sort of sign language or gestures, and none of the others dared to even try and make some up on the sly. Eventually Jason gave up trying, and floated along like them in a lonely haze of repetitious boring misery.

 

The other Avoxes, Jason learned, were mostly Capitol kids who'd done a runner, or gotten cocky and said something they shouldn't have. They'd been broken by their captivity, their mutilation and their training.

 

Jason was a Gotham street kid. A Victor of the Hunger Games.  He doesn't break easily.

 

But, he did wonder if the _cutting-out-the-tongues-of-traitors-as-punishment_ thing had come after the _forcing-them-to-serve-their-enemies-without-being-talked-to-and-hardly-even-acknowledged_ thing. Because if he had a tongue Jason would've been talking non-stop, just to get somebody- _anybody_ to talk to him, to please of the love for the love GOD just look at him, and if that hadn't worked he would've started screaming

 

Jason can still make noise without a tongue of course, but it's just cottony disjointed syllables or high piercing shrieks. It wasn't worth the beating to make noise as an Avox.

 

He tried smashing something, just to get someone to acknowledge him, but the punishment was so terrible and so ...distracted that he never did it again. It was too to be beaten till you screamed by someone not only didn't care but wasn't even really paying attention.

 

As terrible as it was to be ignored, to be nothing, to be less than dirt, and lonelier than he'd been even when he was an orphaned child on Crime Alley, Jason endured. He survived. Jason had decided to live to spite the world years ago, he wasn't about to stop now.

 

Gradually he settled in, getting through the sameness of each day with building anger and desperation. Every night he did the exercises he could remember from Bruce's insane paranoia fuelled training regime, trying to push his body to the point of exhaustion just so he could sleep.

 

The Hunger Games rolled around again, as inevitable and unstoppable as a the cold bite of Gotham's winter.

 

 

It had been nearly a year since Jason had fled the Capitol, following the last Games. Only 9 months since he'd climbed that fence out of Gotham. 8 since they'd cut his tongue out. 6 since he'd been here in this strange purgatory of silent slavery. Those days didn't feel like a dream, or like a lifetime ago, they felt so recent that sometimes Jason half-believed he'd step through a door and find himself back where he belonged.

 

The Master of the house held a party to watch the reaping.

 

Jason couldn't help watching it from the corner of his eye as he circulated through the crowd a tray of drinks held perfectly level. People took them without looking at him.

 

The Master had set up additional vidscreens- huge ones so there wasn't a single corner of the party where a guess wouldn't have a clear view of the proceedings.

 

Jason couldn't escape the images, even if he tried.

 

First there was District One, as usual a couple of nondescript kids are reaped and then immediately replaced with Career Volunteers. Jason almost smiled at the sour look on Talia al Ghul's face as she stood on the stage.

 

District Two was much the same as District 1, only even more boring, since at least District One had a sense of spectacle. District Two has always been particularly dour.

 

Jason stopped breathing for a moment as the broadcast from District Three came on. Bruce, Dick and Alfred all stood shoulder to shoulder on the stage, the only Victor's worth mentioning from District 3.

 

Jason couldn't help the feeling of relief at the sight of Dick. His face was healed and he was standing tall and smiling as though nothing had happened.

 

The commentators mention something about a pall being cast over this reaping by the untimely death of the last young Victor Jason Todd in a tragic accident, before moving on to talking about Dick's outfit.

 

Jason swallowed to keep from sighing in relief. Thank God, they'd done what he thought they would, written him off as a casualty and failed to take reprisals. If he was gone then they had no reason to hurt Dick. The Golden Boy was far more valuable to them whole and healthy, than broken and bleeding.

 

The commentator's discussion vis a vis: Dick's outfit this year had gotten heated. They seemed to have gotten hysterical over it. Someone said something that she felt as though it was clear tangible proof that Grayson had spent too much time in dark dreary Gotham and needed to get back to the Capitol ASAP.

 

Jason was sure it was unrelated to him, but Dick, who'd been one of the few Victor's Jason had ever met to take a little joy in the Capitol's ridiculous clothing, looked downright sombre (for him at least). Years ago when he was freshly crowned, Dick had adopted electric blue as his signature colour and tended to favour outfits with as much gold and feathers as could structurally be included.

 

That year's outfit still featured the electric blue, but was mostly black with some very subtle texture details in a feather motif. More than that he'd also cut his long hair back to a utilitarian chop.

 

Dick Grayson looked harder and tougher suddenly, and, judging by the commentator's reactions, the Capitol didn't like it much.

 

_Good_ , thought Jason, _Fight, for once in your life don't roll with the punches, hit them back as hard as you can. Don't you ever give them what they want. The laws of gravity don't stop you, don't let the laws of a corrupt police state._

The girl's name rang out over the crowd and a woman in the back collapsed weeping as a 13 year old with braids climbed the steps. Dick stepped forward to meet her with a smile. The commentator's barely paused in their scathing indictment of the tailoring of his jacket to take note of the newest tribute.

 

The District Escort Vicki Vale is only half-way through reading the name of the male tribute when a fist punched into the air and a clear voice rang out from the crowd:

 

“I Volunteer! I volunteer as Tribute!!”

 

The commentators gasped in unison and there was a murmur of excitement in the room. Jason realized he'd been openly staring at the screen with his mouth hanging open and quickly tried to move to the corners, hoping no one had noticed his lapse.

 

No one had. They were too riveted by what was happening on screen.

 

It wasn't that Gotham didn't get Volunteers at all. They used to have them every now and then- kids willing to bet their lives for a chance at fame and glory but that had ended with the reaping of Bruce Wayne and the executions of his parents.

 

There hadn't been a Volunteer from Gotham in over 20 years.

 

The crowd parted to reveal the little idiot who'd yelled. Jason gritted his teeth. The moron was standing in the section for 16-year olds, but easily could have passed for younger.

 

Bruce stepped forward to meet the kid and Jason got a good look at him for the first time.

 

He was small for his age, and slight in comparison with the hulking 18-year old Volunteers they'd just seen in 1 and 2. But there was something in the set of his jaw, the wiry hardness of his muscles and, most of all, in the ice cold pallor of his eyes that made this young man seem dangerous.

 

Jason recognized the kid, another member of Gotham's very thin upper crust that he'd met a time or two at one of the never ending society events Bruce was pathological about attending and organizing, despite the fact that Jason knew the man despised them.

 

Jason and the kid had ended up stuck talking to each other at a party one time. They had talked about the Games from a lack of anything else to say to one another. The kid had known a lot about them- he had a head for numbers and had bored Jason to tears listing off statistics and rates of success for different strategies, Districts and age groups. The kid had looked as trapped and uncomfortable in the conversation as Jason had felt. Which had made a nice change. Usually when people talked to Jason about the Games it was with a gleeful blood-lust which quite frankly made his skin crawl.

 

The kid told the world his name: Timothy Drake.

 

He wasn't like Jason, who had been handsome enough at his reaping in an ordinary childish sort of way, or like Dick who had always been beautiful.

 

Tim was kind of funny looking. He had delicate features that seemed to match is his thin angular frame. He might be quite striking in a couple of years, and then again he might not be. At the moment he just looked painfully young and very awkward.

 

Jason could tell already that he was going to be some stylists nightmare. A third dark-haired orphaned boy from Gotham? How repetitive. Besides which the boy's skin was pale as bone next to his shiny jet-black hair, which was Jason thought appraisingly, natural and not the dull black of a cheap dye the way Jason's had been- a hellishly unfashionable combination at the moment.

 

Not to mention that judging by the stubborn set of Tim's jaw, Jason doubted he would just meekly submit to the stylist's vision.

 

Tim looked like he had a very clear idea of how he was going to win the Games and he wouldn't be willing to give an inch. Not to anyone. Except maybe Bruce, who tended to win all his fights by attrition.

 

Part of Jason wanted to respect this boy because he was brave. Not just hungry for fame and power, but _brave_ , because there was a desperation in his eyes but a determination in his shoulders, and he somehow looked like he knew _exactly_ what he was getting into.

 

But, the larger part of Jason, the part which had had to beat and claw his way to Victory in Jason's own arena, that saw how the arena was only the beginning of a tribute's suffering, who'd tried to escape that trap even though he knew the risks and the price should he fail (and who didn't regret trying, even now with everything that had happened- it was better to fight than die by inches), who hated the Games, and the Capitol and the people who, however unwillingly, supported a system so inherently evil, wanted to kill that boy.

 

He wanted to kill Timothy Drake for the sheer contempt he was showing for his own life.  

 

He wanted to kill Timothy Drake because how _dare_ he volunteer?! How dare he _choose_ that life? He wasn't stupid was he? Did he believe what they said about Jason and his 'accident'? Had he somehow missed the night-train bearing two broken boys and their broken mentor home in the middle of the night when the rest of Gotham had registered it with silent resignation?!

 

That kid wasn't even _poor_. The Drake's had been as rich as Bruce was, though they'd died aparently which made Tim a parentless millionaire, like Bruce had been. How dare he _volunteer_ for the Games? How dare he needlessly throw away the incredible gift of a life unshadowed by fear and hunger and despair? How. Dare.He.

 

A sharp pain in his hand made Jason realize he'd been gripping the tray too hard.

 

He swallowed and turned away, floating invisibly once more through the crowd.

 

 

 

The Games rolled on. Dick and Bruce gave interviews again. People lamented Dick's long absence from the Capitol and change of style (they were particularly distraught over The Haircut), Dick evaded their questions, and Bruce amped up the empty-headed airhead act that he performed so well.

 

The kid was so intense in his interview Jason thought that Flickerman was going to wet himself. It was almost enough to make Jason not wish a violent painful death on him for being there in the first place. _Almost._

 

Once the games started for real Jason tried to avoid them if he could, and tried not watch if he couldn't.

 

It was obvious that Tim was the sort of genius Careers had nightmares about.

Bruce must have parlayed some favour or other into an alliance with the Careers for Tim, which got the kid through the bloodbath without much trouble, making sure he'd live long enough to have a chance to put the plan that had driven him to volunteer into effect..

 

After a few days it became clear that Tim was lining up all the other victors on the board, systematically making moves against them, always a step a head by the time they realize the danger and react, half the time never realizing who was the mastermind. He was setting them up to take each other out, a chess-master, coldly making moves and countermoves, even as he grew ever paler and thinner as the strain of the games steadily took their toll.

 

The Games end, not in the glorious final act Tim probably had planned, but in a bloody desperate struggle as Tim scrambled, scratched and gouged at the big tribute from 7 who wasn't about to go down without a fight.

 

Tim won but it was very very close.

 

Another Victor for Gotham, the third in seven years.

 

Jason slipped back into his half-life of silence and rage. He stood in corners, he waited on his Master, he drank the nutritional slurry provided for him three times a day (not even traitorous slaves went hungry in the Capitol), and every night he exercised, always having to push himself harder and harder in order to reach the point where he was exhausted enough to sleep.

 

He also grew, putting on another couple inches and maybe 20lbs of muscle.

 

The short stocky street kid had grown up to become a tall tank of a man. The sort of person who could get respect in the darker corners of Gotham.

 

But, it didn't change anything. Jason still had to stand and watch, listen and never speak. Never able to relax and never able to react. A person-shaped void that occasionally took coats and served food.

 

 

He didn't realize what that all could add up to until the end of Tim's Victory tour when his Master hosted a grand party, a day before the one at the presidential palace.

 

Jason was not put out in front passing drinks this time. The crowd was too big and too varied, made up of more than just the Capitol elite who could be trusted not to react if they recognized an Avox as a former Victor.

 

So, Jason was kept to the back of the house, plating hors d'oeuvres, out of the way of anyone too likely to recognize him.

 

As the party moved outside to watch the fireworks Jason was sent to begin clearing up some of the mess before they returned at the end of the show. It wouldn't do for them to see the clean-up happening anymore than it would to have the abandoned plates and glasses still there when the partiers returned. That was when he heard it: a familiar voice, pleading.

 

“C'mon please. Stop. No! Stop!!”

 

If it was any other voice Jason would have walked on by, but not that one. Using the training of an Avox and a vigilante, Jason silently entered the library

 

Dick Grayson had been cornered by a Capitolite woman in a spider printed dress. He was flinching away from her and looking like he was seriously considering climbing the bookcases all around him to escape.

 

The woman was ignoring his obvious discomfort trailing a from his chest to his thigh.

 

Jason gritted his teeth and grabbed an empty plate and fork clinking them together as loudly as he could with searing glare in her direction.

 

They both turned at the sound. The woman didn't look at him beyond the red uniform, but Dick's face drained of what little colour he had left and his mouth opened as he mouthed a silent question: “Jay?”

 

“Get out.” the Spider woman ordered without looking at him again.

 

Jason tried to convey with a look that Dick need only make the smallest gesture and Jason would kill that bitch with the fork, but Dick just screwed his eyes shut and turned his face away.

 

Jason glanced up to where he knew the security cameras were. It wouldn't be too hard to kill that woman without them seeing. His eyes journeyed back to where Dick was trying not to cry.

 

She'd cornered him in one of the cameras' blind spots. Smart bitch.

 

Jason wondered if this was an actual client or if Dick had become too afraid to deny the use of his body to anybody bold enough to reach out and take it, even those the Capitol hadn't forced him to submit to.

 

Jason left the room and continued his search for the dirty cups and plates.

 

He slipped out of the kitchen a bit later, this time with one of the knives hidden in his sleeve. Not a big one, just a paring knife. With the kitchen in an uproar over the party he knew he could return it before it was missed.

 

As he suspected Grayson had fled as soon as he could, while the Spider had lingered to touch up her elaborate hair, makeup and dres. She was still sitting in the camera's blindspot.

 

Jason hadn't killed anyone since his Games three and a half years ago, but Bruce, it turned out, was right about one thing: killing just kept getting easier once you'd started. He didn't make her death particularly cruel, but he didn't make it quick either. He left her there cut open in a pool of her own blood, still hidden in the blind-spot.

 

He learned who she was the next day: a Victor-groupie and wanna-be stylist named Tarantula.

 

The Capitol is titillated by the idea the grizzly murder of a nobody at one of the greatest events of the year. No one connected her name to Grayson, they didn't even make much note that he was at the party. Jason took that as confirmation that she hadn't been supposed to be touching the Capitol's Golden Boy.

 

Grayson stayed in town and looked no better and no worse than before.  Jason realized with a pleasant curl of satisfaction that he'd gotten away with it. No one suspected a thing.

 

That was when Jason really woke up to the possibilities of his station. Avoxes rarely went out in public alone, but there _were_ hidden ways for them to get around if they needed to do so to complete an order. And if they were in public no one looked at them beyond the uniform, they were as good as invisible.

 

Jason decided to put the ridiculous vigilante training Bruce had insisted on after the Games to work for more than just trying to keep himself sane.

 

He started slow, just to work out the kinks in the system, but it rapidly became clear just how _easy_ it was, between his training with the Batman and his invisibility as an Avox he could get in and out of almost anywhere undetected.

 

His only disappointment is that Mr. Desmond, who'd raped and beaten Dick all those months ago was already dead. An accident of somesort, though it was impossible to know with the Capitol elite who really had just died and who had been secretly executed or assassinated by his rivals.

 

But there were other people in the Capitol who needed killing almost as much, and Jason was eager to see them finally get what they deserved.

 

The only person who might have been able to put the pieces together, who probably even _had_ all the pieces to put together is Jason's Master who, luckily, was frozen by indecision, caught between the fear of being caught and blamed for the murders should his suspicions prove correct and the fear of being caught covering up for the mistaken mutilation of a Victor.

 

He didn't decide quickly enough.

 

Jason hung his Master in the study and made it look like a suicide, freeing himself of the final thread binding him to his old identity as Jason Todd.

 

Or so he thought, until the elite of Panem descended on the mansion to choose the choicest of the dead man's belongings for themselves and Jason found himself looking into the eyes of the Unkillable Ra's al Ghul, the Oldest Living Victor, and founder of the Career Training Program of District 1.

Defiantly, Jason met the man's inscrutable gaze- he knew he'd been recognized.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief timeline:  
> Bruce won the 74th Hunger Games, age 12  
> Dick won the 94th Games, age 14  
> Jason won the 98th Games, age 16  
> Tim won the 101st Games, age 16
> 
> Did you guys like this? If you did let me know! Comments fuel my writing fire!


	3. Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason leaves a bloody trail of vengeance through the Capitol, and finds some surprising allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Just murdering. Lots of murdering. References to decapitation.

Apparently, the al Ghul's were so deep in the Capitol's pocket they didn't even have to stay at the Tribute Centre when they were in town, but were allowed to maintain their own apartment.

 

Ra's hadn't exactly introduced him to his daughter just exchanged a look with her and waved at Jason with the explanation that this was a new Avox Ra's had acquired.

 

Talia had met Jason's gaze and raised one perfectly plucked brow before turning back to her the fashion sketches in front of her.

That was it.

 

Jason didn't now if they'd told Bruce that they'd found him. The smart money would be on “no”. No matter that Talia referred to Bruce as 'Beloved' and Ra's seemed to have a hate-boner for the guy, or at least an _'I-bow-before-a-worthy-adversary_ ” type deal, the relationship between the two camps had always been two fucked up for words.

 

Jason was still their slave and spent a lot of time standing around like a living decorative vase or something, but there was definitely a certain....tacit silent approval for his nocturnal activities. Ra's hadn't gotten to where he was by being unaware of what his underlings were up to.

 

At least they seemed to 'accidentally' mention a lot of useful information in his presence if they _didn't_ approve of what he was doing.

 

The Capitol was shocked and appalled by the way that the elite of the city had started dropping like flies. Some died fast. Others slow.

 

The man who'd forced Jason back down onto that bed all those months ago died terribly, the viciousness of that murder only matched by the slow agonizing vengeance Jason enacted on a number of peacekeepers who'd made a very big mistake a few years ago. The men and women who'd been buying Dick since he'd been practically a child met similarly gruesome fates.

 

It didn't fix what had happened, Jason knew, but Dick hadn't been going out in the Capitol as much recently (not surprising if he was still fragile enough that an over the clothing grope could reduce him to tears), but he still appeared now and then, glittering in blue and black- no more gold, or wings Jason couldn't help but notice. Funny he almost missed the ridiculous outfits.

 

The news might have not reported it but most people started noticing that everyone who appeared in public with Golden Boy Richard Grayson on their arm tended to die particularly badly within a few weeks .

 

Dick started appearing even more rarely.

 

One night Jason was pooring Ra's some flourescent green drink when he noticed Talia giving him an assessing once over.

 

That night she grabbed him for a kiss and then took him back to her room.

 

Jason was fully aware that having sex with the one of only two women your pseudo-father figure had ever had anything close to a real relationship with was pretty fucked up even by Capitol standards, but the last fully consensual sexual encouter Jason had had was well over two years ago now.

 

Not to mention Talia al Ghul was smoking hot in a way that didn't reek of Capitol.

 

So, what if she was still in love/obsessed with Bruce? Jason didn't care. He didn't.

 

Life settled into a twisted parody of normal. Jason snuck out at night to bring death to those who deserved it. Ra's rarely left the Capitol but Talia came and went seemingly at random, sometimes 'entertaining' high ranking officials during her visits and sometimes not. She usually had Jason warm her bed while she was in town. If Ra's noticed he didn't say anything.

 

Jason doesn't see Dick again while he was there.

 

He kept getting bolder in his vengeance.

 

He killed everyone who had anything that to do with the Games, or the Reapings or the Escorting that he could get his hands on.

 

He strung the bodies of the worst culprits for buying Victors from their own elaborate gates.

 

He left the severed heads of 12 Game Makers lined up in front of the Tribute Centre.

 

It was only after that last little stunt that Talia came back from dinner with a high ranking official looking even slightly worried.

 

“They've discovered that the crimes are being committed by an Avox.” she told her father over breakfast the next day, her eyes flicking to where Jason stood holding the water pitcher impassively.

 

Ra's looked up from his ever present flourescent green drink in surprise. “Have they?” he remarked mildly, as though she'd told him that lacquered red accessories had gone out of style. “Well, that's quite frightening news.” He very deliberately did not glance over his shoulder at Jason. “Perhaps we ought to close up our Capitol apartment and return to District 1 with our most treasured possessions. At least until this whole sorry business has blown over and the culprit has been caught.”

 

That only made Talia look more nervous.

 

 

 

 

Apparently the elite of 1 are allowed to have Avoxes. Or at least Ra's was. So Jason was packed up along with Talia's extensive antique book collection, and Ra's even more extensive collection of green capes, and sent off to District 1 on a freight train.

 

The al Ghuls are the richest people in District 1, not just because they're Victors twice over but because Ra's owns half the mines in the place.

 

Jason realised why Talia had been nervous the second he saw her with a little boy, whose skin was lighter than her own, and who, even at 7 years old bore a striking resemblance to his father.

 

Jason couldn't help pointing at the kid and shooting Talia a look that asked quite clearly “What the hell is that!?”

 

 

Talia gave Jason a whistful smile that would have been sweet on anyone else, but which was kind of disturbing coming from her of all people. “Todd, this is my son. Damian.”

 

The kid scowled at Jason in a way that would have been cute if he wasn't also polishing a throwing knife.

 

Jason didn't really have anything to do at the al Ghul complex. The place was a well oiled machine whose servants clearly prefered it when Jason stood in a corner and didn't touch anything, and he couldn't go out since, unlike in the Capitol, Avoxes were rare enough here that everyone stared at them, and he was almost certain to be recognized.

 

He started spending all his time in the shooting range in the basement just to have something to do, and for the first time he found something that seemed to come as naturally to him as acrobatics did to Dick or being a delusional asshole did to Bruce.

 

Shooting things was definitely Jason's calling.

 

Talia didn't sleep with him here, she seemed far too preoccupied with turning her son into the perfect little killing machine, an undertaking that the kid seemed to excel at.

 

 

 

Jason doesn't know what happened that got him sent out of District 1, he just knew that one day Ra's had slunk out of the shadows with a couple of cronies, and informed Jason that he'd be working with them from now on.

 

Talia didn't really say good bye, she just kissed him the day before he left the complex, and whispered “If you ever get the chance, please tell Bruce about Damian” in his ear.

 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jason changed out of his red Avox uniform.

 

And thus began Jason's brief but glorious life as a hired thug in Ra's al Ghul's legally-grey empire that stretched from District 12 all the way to the Capitol itself.

 

He killed Ra's hire-lings in the woods outside of 7 two months later, without a second thought, or a shred of remorse. He wasn't interested in hurting people so that Ra's could amass even more power in support of a repressive and evil regime.

 

From there he found the revolutionaries, and once he found _them_ , he started learning things that even Ra's al fucking Ghul had never dreamed of.

 

Finding the components to build a voice synthesizer wasn't too difficult. Jason wasn't the only tongueless former Avox who'd slipped the net and rejoined the cause he'd be silenced in the service of. Making the helmet took a lot longer, but it was worth the wait to be able to shout again. Though Jason couldn't even remember if his voice had ever sounded like the low-growl that his helmet produced.

 

He wasn't as pure as some rebels or as bloodthirsty as others, but when they needed someone to establish a base for the movement in Gotham there was only one person to send.

 

 

 

In retrospect he should have realized that none of the Victors in 3 would understand what he was trying to do.

He was pretty sure the words “Gibbering Lunacy” were a direct quote from Bruce-as-Batman on the subject. Alfred had said nothing.

 

The Replacement (and speaking of gibbering lunacy Jason still failed to grasp the thought process that had made that kid Robin), had made of show of understanding only to betray him to the omnipresent Giant-Flying-Rodent that lingered continually over Gotham like a bad smell.

 

Hindsight being twenty-twenty Jason could now admit that his subsequent attacks against Timothy Drake, and the rest of them had been a uncalled for and, that Jason's attitude during that particular vendetta could perhaps be accurately described as _Gibbering Lunacy_. But Bruce had started it.

 

Jason was man enough to admit that shrieking about abandoned sons, and throwing that little al Ghul boy in Bruce's face was never going to achieve anything, depite being incredibly satisfying in the moment.

 

Jason didn't really see Dick during this time. Not because he was off in the Capitol, closing his eyes and thinking of Gotham but because _he,_ at least, seemed disinclined to get too involved in the debacle, and while he showed up with the Bat often enough to nearly get blown up that one time, he never bothered to hunt Jason down like a rabid dog the way Brucie and the Replacement felt compelled to do on a semi-regular basis.

 

A request to meet with some other revolutionary leader off the coast of 4 was what ended up snapping Jason out of his all consuming righteous fury. 

He returned to Gotham and this time made sure not to tread on the Bat's toes.

 

Batman guarded the streets. He wasn't a man- he was a symbol, a force above of the peacekeepers, and the people on the strees.

 

The Red Hood never hid that he was a man. He was _one_ of the people on the streets.

 

Batman was a force for justice. He wasn't reliable or reachable, but instead as implacable and unstoppable as the weather. His protection couldn't be counted on.

 

Red Hood was a different thing all together. He took over a large slice of the Citie's criminal businesses to help fund the revolution. His ruled fairly but brutally. People knew that the Hood wasn't going to swoop out of the darkness to save you if you were attacked, but they learned that if you were attacked and then made your way to the darked most twisted alleys in the Narrows and whispered what happened into the right man's ear than those reponsible would pay.

 

It wasn't justice, impartial and pure. Hood tended to care more about the people in his territory, about those loyal to him. But it was something.

 

At least Hood could appreciate loyalty, and Hood was loyal in return.

 

There was no point in loyalty to the Bat. One might as well be loyal to the moon.

 

So, Jason ruled, Bruce guarded, Tim followed and Dick flitted through the air on the edges of things.

 

Jason didn't see him face to face for a long time.

 

Until one day, on a whim, Jason went looking for him.

 

 

 

Grayson is sitting on the roof of the old Victor's mansion, in civilian clothes, not the outfit he wore as the vigilante Nightwing.

 

Jason can't quite manage to drop down silently onto the shingles a few feet away.

 

Grayson whips around at the sound and then quirks a smile at the retrofitted peacekeeper's helmet.

 

“Heya, Red.” he says with a slightly mocking grin.

 

Jason hasn't gotten a good look at Grayson in years. He looks different. Older. Smaller. His hair is still short and the old sweater he is wearing must have belonged to Bruce since two of Grayson could have easily fit into it. He looks ridiculous.

 

Jason can't seem to find the words, suddenly, when faced with the man, who despite Jason's own denials, had once been his big brother.

 

Dick raises his eyebrows in a question. “Come on, you must have come here for a reason! Spit it out!”

 

“Did they stop making you doing it? I haven't seen you in the Capitol lately.” Jason blurts out.

 

Dick's face shuts down instantly. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Did they stop selling you? I tried to get them to stop. I mean, I was trying to get them to do a lot of things but-” Jason tries again. It's closer to all the words and feelings that are stuck in his throat, but it's still not what he wants to say.

 

Dick's up in a crouch now, and Jason knows the gravity-exempt little bastard will be on him in a second if he doesn't explain himself and fast.

 

All he can think to do is scramble at the bottom of his helmet and yank. It doesn't come off easy. It's not supposed to. He doesn't want to be unexpectedly voiceless in a fight after all.

 

Dick freezes when he sees Jason's face and for a terrible moment Jason thinks that he won't recognize him.

 

“Jay.” Dick whispers and crumbles in on himself.

 

Jason pounds across the roof about as gracefully as a ton of bricks, shoving his helmet back on as he goes.

 

Dick has covered his face with his hands and is sobbing hysterically.

 

“Jesus, Goldie.” Jason tries to joke. “Stop it, you're embarassing me.”

 

That Dick is up and wheeling to deliver a surprisingly strong punch into Jason's stomach.

 

“YOU BASTARD!!!” Dick shrieks. “HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO US?!!”

 

He's pounding his fists against Jason's chest without really trying to attack him (if he was _really_ trying to attack him, Jason knows Dick would start with a scissor kick to his head).

 

Jason grabs Dick's shoulders and holds him at arms length until Dick stops trying to hit Jason.

 

Jason's so much taller than Dick now that this isn't particularly difficult. It feels strange and wrong to be larger than his big brother.

 

“I had to. I know you don't understand but I had to.” Jason desperately tries to explain.

 

“You ended up an Avox.” It's not a question, but it might be an accusation. Dick had seen him once after all. Jason wonders if he'd ever told anyone.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Bruce lost his mind when you left.” Dick declares.

 

Jason makes a face at that which Dick can't see, but seems to know is there all the same.

 

“He did you know.” Dick insists.

 

“Yeah, I'm sure he was real broken up that the guy who got his son-...” Jason cuts himself off, _he doesn't want to go there,_ “-That the guy who caused him so much trouble made himself scarce.”

 

“You were his son, too.” Dick proclaims, and it hurts because Jason knows that Goldie believes it.

 

Jason let's Dick go, and Dick dances back a few feet, almost as if he's scared of Jason. That hurts, but Jason can't really blame him. Jason had hurt the kid after all, and he was bigger than Dick now.

 

“You killed Tarantula didn't you.” Dick says, not exactly calm but making a pretty good effort.

 

“Yeah.” Jason answers.

 

“And half my clients.”

 

“More than half. Did it work?” Jason has to ask.

 

Dick shrugs. “Between that and a few other things, I was able to fake a nervous breakdown and retire. Everyone was too afraid to go out in public with me at that point anyway. Besides the Capitol needed me to come back here to try and talk Bruce back into sound logical reasoning. For now I'm safe.”

 

Jason nods. “Good”

 

Dick doesn't thank him for what he did but Jason knows the older man has a soft enough heart that he probably even feels sorry for his rapists.

 

“You okay, Jay?” Dick asks unexpectedly.

 

Jason grins under his helmet. “I'm great Dickie-bird.”

 

Dick makes a face at the name.

 

Jason laughs, and it's a real laugh, not something generated by his helmet.

 

“Well...” he stands there awkwardly.

 

Dick looks at him silently, waiting for some obvious reason for this impromptu pseudo-family reunion.

 

“You okay Dick?” Jason asks.

 

Dick smiles, the real blinding, Grayson grin that can melt even the hearts of emotionally traumatized Victors. “I'm great Jay. Everything's great. I'm dating the daughter of the Head Peacekeeper, I only go to the Capitol to mentor, and, occasionally, to make a special appearance that doesn't involve having sex with the highest bidder. Tim's doing well, considering...everything. Bruce is better these days too.”

 

Jason nods. “You know I almost believe you?”

 

Dick laughs. “Oh, you don't, huh?”

 

“Nope.” Jason pops the p.

 

Dick smirks at him. “And why is that?”

 

“Cause your sitting up here all on your lonesome instead of hoping around rooftops like a demented jumping bean with big B and the Replacement.”

 

“I felt like taking the night off.”

 

“Suure. Hey, what happened to your wings, man? You used to wear them with everything.”

 

It's partly a joke, but Jason really did wonder why Dick had given up on his beloved electric blue feather patterns. It bothered him somehow. Richard Grayson could fly, the sombre blacks and charchoals of the Gotham styles didn't suit him.

 

Dick laughs and shrugs. “I grew up- I don't need them anymore.”

 

Jason hmms and steps to the edge of the roof, a grappling gun at the ready.

 

“Hey, Jason. You been out to Wayne Manor since you got back?” Dick calls out to him.

 

Jason frowns and turns back. “No.”

 

“You should. It's pretty cool..”

 

Jason rolls his eyes under his helmet. That was about as subtle as a hammer to the head. Classic Grayson. Why not just scream “There's a secret vigilante base under that abandoned house, you should totally drop by!!” Some things never changed.

 

“I'll think about it!” he yells, firing the gun.

 

“Excellent! It's settled. I'll have Alfred make an extra batch of cookies.” Dick hollers after him, as if the 6 month feud during which Batman had tried to literally beat his point of view into Jason and Jason had retaliated by attempting to murder an 18 year old had never happened, or if it had Dick could overcome and lingering resentments through sheer force of good natured cheer.

 

Jason shoots him a mock-salute as he swings away into the streets.

 

He could just make out Dick's blinding smile as he landed.

 

He wasn't about to go to the Wayne Manor, but he hoped he'd see Nightwing around sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Here concludes Jason's backstory. I'm working on the Sequel to Survival of the Fittest but have started working full time and can't say when that will be up. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this journey of angst and violence.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this seemed a lot better when I wrote it? However, I'm starting work soon and won't have time to really work on this and I figured better to just get it out there.
> 
> The continuation of Survival of the Fittest should be coming along eventually, but I can't say when. 
> 
> Please comment if you liked this, Comments are the Fuel that feed the fire of my writing. They make me so happy.


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